Million Dollar Devil

6.

I spin around in my white leather chair, trying to pass the time until Mr. Hayes leaves and I can sneak out without having to face him. 

It's been over an hour since the coffee incident, and his office has been silent ever since. No phone calls. No keyboard clicks. Just stillness. My wrist throbs beneath the damp fabric of my sleeve, the burn radiating a dull heat that matches the embarrassment simmering in my chest.

Every second that ticks by feels like a punishment. I keep replaying his voice in my head.

If today isn't my last day, it will still be a long time before I stop cringing every time I think about it. From now on, I'll keep my head down. No more overthinking. No more gestures. Just do the job and get my ass home.

I wanted a nine-to-five. I have one. All I have to do is keep it.

Knock knock.

My entire body jolts.

"Door's open!" I call, voice tighter than I intend. 

The door gently opens. A man in a black suit and white collared shirt stands there with a bag in his hand and an ice pack in the other.

"Ms. Wright?" He looks at me with an almost goofy smile, completely disarming.

"Yes, that's me," I stand up, approaching him with my hand outstretched.

"Jackson," he says, shaking it with a firm grip. "Leo asked me to drop these off." He sets the bag on my desk and offers the ice pack.

"Oh." I blink, caught between confusion and gratitude. "Thank you. That's really thoughtful."

"First day?" he asks, eyes scanning the room, lingering briefly on my ruined blouse before lifting to meet mine again.

 "Yeah," I say, unable to help the half-laugh that slips out. "This is definitely one for the scrapbook."

He chuckles, and something in the tension in my shoulders loosens. He's boyishly handsome with bright eyes, unruly curls that refuse to match his immaculate suit. 

"Don't worry, we all have days like this. Only difference is, most of us don't have to deal with Leo on those days," he smirks.

"What's your role" I ask, "That's too nice of a suit to just be his errand boy."

"Jackson Pike. CFO of AKMO and still somehow Leo's errand boy," he throws another one of what seems to be his signature smirks. It is charming, I can't deny it.  

My eyes widen. "Wait, you're the CFO?"

"Don't sound so surprised," he teases. "I do occasionally perform acts of heroism. Like delivering ice packs to new hires."

I laugh despite myself. "Mr. Hayes's overqualified errand boy and his negligent personal assistant. What a team we make."

"Don't be hard on yourself," he says, the warmth in his smile genuine. "Leo has high standards, but if he was really pissed, you'd know it because you wouldn't be sitting here."

"That's comforting," I say, smiling faintly. "Sort of."

"Hang in there." He nods toward the ice pack. "And keep that on your wrist. You'll survive."

 He throws me one last sparkling smile before exiting my office.

I stare at the paper bag sitting on my desk. My chest tightens. Slowly, I peel back the edges and look inside.

A blouse. White satin, pristine, and identical to the one I ruined. Except newer and much nicer. The fabric glows faintly in the light, soft and expensive and completely undeserved.

It feels like the strangest kind of punishment,  quiet and impossible to repay.

I should thank him.

I peek into the hallway, but his office is empty. His chair sits tucked neatly behind the desk, the surface spotless as ever. His calendar shows no meetings. He's gone for the day.

I open my laptop and start typing:

Subject: Thank you

To: Mr. Hayes

Mr. Hayes,

I apologize again for the incident earlier. Thank you for the shirt, it really wasn't necessary, but I appreciate it.

See you tomorrow,
Lillian Wright

I hover for a second before pressing send. Then I close my laptop, slip the blouse carefully into my bag, and grab my coat.

I have a few hours before Lilacs.

___________

Dominique gasps the moment I walk into the dressing room. "Mamá, what the hell happened to your arm?"

The burn looks worse under the harsh fluorescent light,  red and angry against the pale skin of my wrist.

 I've tried ointment, but it's stubborn. The kind of thing Alex would absolutely lose his shit over. We're the product here, and damaged goods don't sell.

"I had my first day today," I sigh, gesturing to the burn like a bad punchline. "It was... not great." 

She disappears into a drawer and emerges triumphant. "Here. Wear this." She tosses me a long-sleeved black mesh top. "It'll cover everything and keep Alex off your ass."

I take it with a laugh. "You're a lifesaver."

Dominique pats the chair beside her. "Okay. Tell me everything."

She eyes me curiously, "Tell me everything," she pats the chair next to her and I oblige.

I flop down beside her. "There's not much to tell. I brought my new boss coffee after he told me not to. Spilled it all over myself. He was pissed. I may have lost two layers of skin and any chance of lasting longer than a week."

I wince at the thought of his voice, my burning chest, and utter humiliation.

"So you upset Mr. Sexy and now you feel bad?" She says simply. I nod in response, feeling stupid when she puts it in those simple terms.

"Dios mío," she laughs. "So you pissed him off. Did he fire you?"

"No," I say, then pause. "Worse. He sent someone else who happens to also very hot and very important, to bring me a new shirt."

Her jaw drops. "He bought you a shirt? Girl..." She points at me, twirling her finger in the air. "You've already got him wrapped around your little finger."

I bury my face in my hands. "You're not helping."

She smirks, lining her lips. "I'm not trying to help. I'm trying to enjoy the drama."

I laugh, the sound breaking through the heaviness in my chest.

"Now go," she says, waving me off. "Alex is gonna start foaming at the mouth if you're late again."

I pull the mesh top over my head. It clings cool and tight, covering the burn. As I step toward the stage, the lights start to pulse, and the music begins. That low, familiar bass that lives in my bones.